


The Marrying Kind

by whopooh



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/pseuds/whopooh
Summary: The detectives have a quiet evening in after a busy week, when Phryne brings up an unexpected topic.





	The Marrying Kind

“You know, I could do it. If you really need it,” Phryne said. 

It was a quiet evening after a busy week. The rain poured down on Melbourne and they had decided to stay at Wardlow for the evening. That seemed particularly apt as Jack was still limping from the strained leg he had gotten from rushing to Phryne’s rescue the day before. It had proven she didn’t need it – of course, she always managed to save herself – but Jack had realised many months ago that would never stop him from running after her. An injured leg was the least of his worries.

Jack put down the mark in the book he was reading; it was one of the more daring new novels Phryne had insisted he should read to broaden his horizons. He wasn’t sure whether he enjoyed it yet, but he liked to keep his mind open.

He looked up at the woman he currently shared the chaise with. She was reclining against the opposite end of it, where she had been reading a book of her own, her ankles lightly resting against his legs. 

“Huh?” he asked, still partly in England and contemplating another person’s highly dubious life choices.

“I could do it,” she repeated, looking him straight in the eyes with a raised eyebrow. “I know I’ve always said I never would, but if it means very much to you, I could marry you.”

 

***

 

The week before, there had been a dinner party hosted by Phryne’s Aunt Prudence. Phryne had gone against Jack’s wishes and promised they would both be there; Jack had made a fuss but shown up in the end, although hardly in his happiest mood. Wearing his best formal wear, but still feeling rather out of place, he had stood by her side sipping champagne when a familiar figure came into the dining room. 

“Phryne!” he hissed, turning to the woman at his side. “You never said…”

“Inspector Robinson!” a booming voice interrupted before Jack had the chance to finish the sentence. “It’s unusual to meet you at this kind of function.”

Jack turned to the man stalking towards him, trying to look like he was completely at ease. 

“Deputy Commissioner.” As they shook hands, Phryne eyed Jack insistently to introduce them. After some reluctance, he did.

“And this is the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, my…” Jack said, realising he couldn’t finish that sentence properly.

“… crime solving partner,” Phryne added. “Delighted.”

“Deputy Commissioner Sharpe,” the man said as he greeted her. “So, you are the infamous Miss Fisher that keeps our lads on their toes.”

He sounded jovial, but Jack knew the Deputy Commissioner enough to know it wasn’t the whole truth. Sharpe had a name that befitted him, with a sharp mind and keen eyes that saw everything, and he was a man that stuck with formality. An evening with him and Phryne in the same room was not going to be an easy feat.

Jack saw that Sharpe noticed all the details: Phryne’s hand on Jack’s arm, Phryne’s easy laughter at something Jack said, the way she leaned into him, oblivious of the notion of personal space. Jack found he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the reactions he thought he could sense from the Deputy Commissioner.

As they were called to dinner, it turned out Phryne was seated next to Sharpe. Jack contemplated trying to get out of the whole thing by fainting, but it didn’t sound like a solid enough plan to actually carry through. He was seated a bit to the side, far enough so he could only hear snippets of what they were saying. Phryne was treating Sharpe to stories about crime solving, the culture in England, and the state of the Women’s Hospital whose board her Aunt sat on – and Jack was sure he heard his own name mentioned more than once. The poor woman seated next to him got a rather distracted dinner partner; luckily, she seemed content to talk about her prize-winning petunias anyway.

How could he have been so foolish he’d let himself be dragged to this party? What they had, the two of them together – it was precious, but it wasn’t really meant for the public eye. He had no answers of what they could reasonably pose as, or even of what he was doing there. Hearing her sparkling, contagious laugh from the other side of the table made him queasy. He saw Sharpe send him a glance over the table.

After dinner, Jack overheard Phryne talking to her aunt. 

“Phryne,” Prudence Stanley said, and rather pointedly, Jack thought. “Are you enjoying your evening?”

“The dinner was delightful, Aunt P.”

“The Inspector seemed a tad distracted,” Mrs Stanley continued. “Although Mrs Morton is never an easy conversation partner, of course.” Her expression sharpened. “I wish I understood why you brought your work partner of all people? I fear you are spending far too much time together for it to be appropriate. At least if you’re not planning something more… permanent. He really should know better.”

At that moment, Jack felt a strong hand on his shoulder, a hand that could only belong to the Deputy Commissioner.

“I understand you are closer to the charming lady detective than I had gathered before, Robinson,” he said casually. “She seems to have been working more cases than your reports say.”

Jack cursed silently. He hadn’t told Phryne that he sometimes downplayed her contributions to not arouse too much suspicion.

“You know you have to be careful about letting… civilians too close, Jack,” Sharpe said. “You have to think about your reputation. And you know what the lads are saying already.” Jack did, much more than the lads probably realised.

Later in the evening he couldn’t help hearing two young women, of rather high standing, chatting. 

“I hear he’s her newest lover. Can you imagine, a policeman?” said the first girl and giggled. 

“Oh, how dull. But I guess she’s all for variety, isn’t she?” the other girl replied. “I bet it’ll be a criminal the next time.”

Jack was rather sure they knew he could hear them, and that it only heightened their amusement. He turned to leave the room just to see Phryne further away, talking with a young man, and he wondered whether she had heard them too.

 

***

 

Now, as they sat in the chaise and read, it seemed the comments hadn’t gone as unnoticed by Phryne as he’d surmised. They must have festered in her mind, probably together with some older incidents at the station, and made her draw that one simple conclusion: “if it means very much to you, I could marry you.”

She looked at him intently, speculatively, with both care and a dare in her eyes. He realised she was convinced she had hit a nerve in him.

He swallowed and looked down at the place where her foot touched him and caressed it briefly, then returned his gaze to her eyes. This was something they had avoided talking about in their tentative exploration of a partnership-turned-relationship, for months now. He knew she treasured her freedom, and as this was a sensitive spot for him, he had been relieved not talking about it. Everything had been so carefree, while deeply serious, and it had been a wonder. 

Jack didn’t know how he should best phrase his thoughts. So, he opted for bluntness.

“I don’t want to marry you, Phryne.”

There was a silence. She was taken aback, although she tried not to show it.

“You don’t?” 

“Why would you think I do?” he asked. “We’ve never even talked about it.”

His eyes scrutinised her, as she tried to hide her expression by taking a sip of her whisky. It was true, they hadn’t talked about it, although maybe they should have. 

“That’s it, is it?” His lips turned into a tiny smile. “You think it’s so important to me I don’t even want to discuss it. My sense of propriety.” He looked at the Austen book in her hands. “And you don’t want your… pride to be a burden for me?” 

There was an almost smug note of humour in his tone. She huffed and moved her head in a partly affirming pattern.

“Perhaps,” she said – lightly, but not flippantly. “But isn’t that the case? Aren’t you hiding a tragically thwarted need to have me and hold me and make an honourable woman out of me?”

He snorted. “Aren’t you Honourable enough as it is?” he asked. “Although, frankly, I quite enjoy your less honourable sides.” 

He turned serious, hesitant. “I… I didn’t think this would be an issue. Not with you, Phryne.” He moved his hand over her leg. “The notorious, indomitable Miss Fisher.”

She put her hand on top of the one caressing her.

“Of course it isn’t. I was only trying to be open-minded, and think about your needs.”

He arched his eyebrows at her. “Aha?”

“But this isn’t something you need?”

He shook his head.

“Think about it, Jack. How long have we been together?” 

“Five months,” he answered. “And sixteen days. If counted from when you came back from England, and not from when you left.” It was her time to arch an eyebrow, and he added a little more feebly. “If I was to hazard a guess.”

“You counted?” 

He blushed.

“I guess I did.”

“You don’t think that’s a little… telling?”

“Are you trying to investigate my affections, Miss Fisher?”

She just smiled at him, still piercing him with her eyes. “I cannot say it sounds all that casual to know the exact count, down to the day. What are you hiding from me, Jack Robinson?”

When he looked away, she sat up straighter so she could reach out and put her hand on his cheek, making him look into her eyes. She stroked her thumb across his lips and he caught it in his mouth. He let his hand follow her arm, from her hand at his cheek all the way to her shoulder, then caressing her, putting pressure on her trying to make her come closer so he could kiss her. Her eyes darkened, but she held the fort. 

“I’m not falling for that trick, Jack. You cannot make me stop asking questions by seducing me.”

“No?” he said, with that minimal smile she loved so much, and a slight movement of his eyebrows. Then he leaned forward so he could kiss her despite her successful fort holding, caressing her back in a way that made her shiver. 

She opened her mouth to let him in and kiss her thoroughly, before pulling back again and putting a hand to his chest.

“No,” she said decisively. “I am not to be deterred.” Her eyes were prodding his, as if she had decided to reach the bottom of that well of knowledge. “You are a traditional man, Jack, in your own way. You care about propriety, surety. I always thought you were holding back your… domesticating desires out of respect for me. Because you know who I am and what I want.” 

“I know who you are. I wouldn’t dream of trying to _domesticate_ you.” He grimaced. “You do know that makes you sound like a wild animal?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she smiled and let her hand move from his chest to his cheek. “But that’s not why you’re holding back, then?”

“I’m not holding back. How can I make you believe me? I’m not holding back any desires, I simply don’t have them!”

“So, you don’t _want_ to marry me!” She retreated to her own corner again, surprised by the hurt in her own utterance. “I know I don’t want to marry you. But you not wanting to marry me, that’s a whole different thing!”

“It is?” he asked, non-plussed.

“Yes it is! You are the marrying kind. That’s a big difference. So it’s not that you don’t want to marry, it’s that you don’t want to marry _me_.”

He looked at her, bewildered.

“I’m not the marrying kind! How am I the marrying kind?”

“Well for one, you were married.”

“You cannot hold that against me! I was young and inexperienced and...”

“And?”

“And… that’s it.”

“But now you’re experienced enough to realise it would be horrible to be married to me, and I would make a terrible wife?”

“I don’t think you would make a terrible wife. You are set on wilfully misunderstanding!”

“Of course I am,” she exclaimed. “That’s what having an argument is about.”

Jack held up his hands in exasperation.

“Who taught you the rules of argumentation? They clearly did it all wrong.”

Phryne snorted and changed position so she stood on her knees, hovering over him on the chaise with one hand on the backrest.

“Are you accusing me of making my arguments in the wrong way…” Her voice was low, almost whispering, and she leaned forward so her lips were mere millimetres from his “…Jack Robinson?”

“I am,” he said and closed the gap. He hugged her to him, rather fiercely, taking out the frustration he felt for her in the only reasonable way. He could hear Phryne hum against his lips, one of her habits that was as endearing as it had been surprising when he had first encountered it. He kissed her with all he had, savouring her taste, welcoming her tongue, caressing the back of her head, and willing her to forget their conversation and just drag him up to her boudoir. When they stopped for air, Phryne ran her fingers through his hair – another habit of hers – and protested.

“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you’re simply not the marrying kind. All evidence point to the opposite.” She glanced at him sideways. “And I am quite sure you love me.”

“Of course I do, Phryne. How could you doubt it?”

“But you don’t harbour secret wishes that you quell because of me? Dreaming about saying yes in a church? About calling me your wife? Perhaps even… Mrs Robinson?”

He looked at her sternly.

“I am not a school girl, Miss Fisher.”

She leaned down and kissed him again. 

“Not at all?” she asked. “Who was it that just confessed to counting the days since I came home from England?”

“If I am a school girl, it must be with a very small part of my brain,” he said, looking rather caught out. “You know I was married. I know what it is. I don’t need to put my name on you like a territorial marking.”

He pulled her down so she instead sat in his lap, and put his hands on either side of her waist. He was silent for a while, his eyes looking past her at the mantel piece.

“But you’re right. Of course. There is a serious side to it too.”

His eyes found hers again, intensely blue in her green ones. 

“I’m… I’m happy you don’t want to marry, Phryne.” He cleared his throat. “It made it much easier for me to dare to be with you. I don’t have to feel like a dishonourable man for being with you without any vows.”

“Of course not.”

“The truth is,” he said and looked sombre, his eyes even turning a little bit blank. “For all the propriety and ease of a marriage, and how people understand one's relationship immediately… I could never stomach another divorce. To be twice divorced, it would be the final failure. I couldn’t do it.”

“Who says we would…” she began protesting, but he put his finger over her lips and shushed her.

“I’m not saying we would. I’m not even saying it’s likely. I’m just saying it can happen. And to me, it already did.” He swallowed and searched her eyes. “I don’t want to enter into something where there’s no reasonable way out. No matter how much I love you, and how much I want to hold you.”

Phryne looked at the man who was just removing his finger from her lips. She was touched by his sincerity and his way of thinking things through, as well as by the way he was slightly world-weary. For some reason, that only made him more beautiful to her. He was the perfect counterbalance to her livelier, rasher temperament, and to her own way of having been beaten down by life – beaten down, but never conquered. She saw he looked rather apprehensive about what he’d told her. 

“Do you think I’m a coward, Miss Fisher?” he asked.

She gave a tiny nod and smiled. 

“The best of cowards, I assure you. The not very foolish ones.” 

“That’s a relief, then,” he said dryly, not certain how much of an absolution that was meant to be. 

Phryne again put her hand on his chest, this time straight above his heart.

“So, it’s not that you don’t want to marry me, Jack,” she said tentatively, trying out this unexpected side of him. “It’s that you don’t want to marry. What a dashing, unromantic hero you make.” 

In response to the softness in her smile, he moved both hands to her cheeks so he could capture her and look her squarely in the eyes.

“I don’t want to marry you, Miss Phryne Fisher. I don’t want to make you a wife.” He paused. “I just want to be with you. Every day when I wake up, I choose to be with you.”

If there was a tear forming in Phryne’s eyes, he never saw it. He pulled her to him, not noticing the books slipping down to the floor or the whisky standing on the sideboard untouched as he kissed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for pre-reading, Fire_Sign!


End file.
